


Snapshots

by perclexed



Series: Happy Highways Where I Went [3]
Category: Lewis (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family, Female Friendship, Friendship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, darcy lewis is my spirit animal, impossibly awesome interdimensional space golden retriever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3934513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perclexed/pseuds/perclexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.  The album?  Snapshots of the lives of all the people in my little crossover universe. These are snippets or short stories that I've given up trying to string together in some coherent manner to create an actual story, but I rather like and want to share.   Most of them may even have a camera involved in some way if I stick to the theme.  </p><p>This will be a WIP.  There will be stories in this series that fall after the events in this collection will be posted later.</p><p>And I am deeply, incredibly indebted to Tehomet for being an excellent beta,  Britpicker, and comma wrangler.  I can't even tell you how many extra 'u's she reminded me to put back into the text.  Medie remains full of sass and awesome as well, and is the best encouragement an author could ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darcy

**Author's Note:**

> Darcy's first morning after the events of "I'm No Cinderella". There's a lot of swearing.

Darcy hasn’t even opened her eyes yet, and she can already tell it’s going to be an absolutely shit day. Her head is throbbing, her body is aching, and nothing about the bed she is lying on is familiar or particularly comforting. Luckily, she can tell that the pain in her head isn’t the kind that comes from a hangover, and the body aches are, for good or for ill, not the kind that come from a vigorous round of mutually satisfying sex. She can also tell that she’s alone, so there’s that.

“Good morning.”

“FUCK!” Darcy shrieks in surprise and sits up so fast her forehead smashes into someone’s nose. There’s a sharp cracking sound to go with the impact, and then a splash of something wet and warm on her face as whoever was dumb enough to wake her up without any warning reels away, swearing.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST Darcy! What the fuck was that for?!” It’s Clint’s voice, though she can’t see his face because for one thing, the pain in her head is like ten thousand times worse suddenly and it’s actually made her vision go weirdly dim. For another, her eyes are streaming with tears from the pain, which is probably for the best because now that her sight’s gone all wonky, she can smell the distinctive and very unwelcome scent and feel of blood on her face. The tears are, at least, starting to wash some of that down and off her skin.

“What the fucking fuck is wrong with you?! Normal fucking people don’t just loom over a girl’s bed and scare the everloving fuckall out of her first fucking thing in the motherfucking morning!” Darcy reaches up to clutch at her head, hoping if she squeezes it hard enough the pressure will either help her headache or maybe just pop her god damn head right open and she won’t have to deal with this shit. “OW! FUCKING FUCK THAT **HURTS**!” she bellows, as her clutching hands do not, in fact, bring relief but only more pain, and on the left side of her head especially. Darcy actually retches from the pain, but there’s apparently nothing in her stomach to come up, which is good because Clint’s not close enough for retaliatory projectile vomiting to be feasible.

“Clint. You had one job.” There’s a feminine sigh from the doorway and the sound of footsteps lightly crossing the floor.

“Datasha, ib’s nod my faudt!” Clint’s voice is muffled and sounds wet. Darcy feels mean, yet vindicated, when Natasha sighs again. 

“Well, I can take ‘headbutt your opponent and break their nose’ off her list of things to learn. Hold still while I….” There’s a weird clicking noise, followed swiftly by a pained exclamation.

“OW! FUCK! Gib a guy sub warnigb!” There’s the sound of Clint trying to slap Natasha’s hands away.

“Stop that and hold still.” Small sounds of fingers on skin. “You’ll be fine. It’s not like you haven’t broken it half a dozen times already.” Clint grumbles under his breath but this time she can hear him as he leaves the room. “Darcy?”

Darcy would like to respond to Natasha, but she’s breathing in short, sharp pants from the pain and from the effort to try to keep from heaving again. The pressure from that last round of retching really hurt, and if she does it again she’s not sure her brain isn’t just actually going to explode.

“Oh boy. Hold on a moment. I’m going to reach for your wrist, okay? Don’t move.” Slim, strong and cool fingers slide across her wrist and press, lightly at first but gradually increasing in pressure. “These are pressure points that help with nausea. We’ll just sit here for a little bit and see if it doesn’t help get your stomach under control, okay?”

Darcy makes a small, desperate noise of assent. And sure enough, a short time later her stomach has calmed enough for her to cautiously take slightly deeper breaths. 

“Give me your other hand.” Darcy does and Natasha removes her fingers and replaces them with Darcy’s own. “Press here firmly. Not so much that it hurts, but so that you’re aware of it. While you are doing that, I am going to get a few things, including some wet cloths and your medication, and we’ll clean you up.”

Darcy ventures another quiet noise of agreement and lets her world narrow to the sounds she can hear (muffled voices in the hall outside her bedroom, the sound of a cupboard opening and closing, water splashing in a sink), the feel of her fingers on her wrist, and the miserable throb of her own pulse pounding in her head.

It feels like an eternity but probably isn’t very long before she can hear a door creak open and the same light, steady footsteps crossing the floor back towards the bed she is sitting in. “If I sit down, will it jar you too much?”

Darcy has no idea, so she ventures a confused little noise with the tiniest shrug she can manage. “All right, I’m going to very slowly settle here next to you. Let me know if it’s too much.” And damn, the woman is totally a superhero because she manages to slide so smoothly and lightly onto the bed next to her that Darcy didn’t even feel the surface dip. “Just keep pressing. While we’re waiting for your stomach to calm down enough to accept a bit of fizzy water and your pain medication, I’m going to clean your face off.”

Natasha doesn’t wait for agreement this time, but simply begins slowly stroking a warm, soft and wet washcloth over the moisture on her face that had just started to get uncomfortably tacky. She works very lightly, and methodically, and it’s so bizarrely gentle that Darcy starts to cry from something other than the pain in her head. 

Natasha, bless her deadly socks, doesn’t comment, just continues to clean her face and after a bit she begins murmuring something soothing in what sounds like Russian. Darcy lets herself be lulled into a calmer state, and after a bit the tears stop, her stomach settles, and she feels brave enough to crack one eye open.

“Better?” Natasha is very close, nearly close enough for Darcy to make her out without squinting, since she doesn’t have her glasses on yet. And really, it’s completely unfair that any human being is that gorgeous first thing in the morning. 

“Yeah.” Her voice is rough from pain and tears, but at least she can talk again. “Painkillers?”

She can see a brief flash of white teeth. “Just keep holding on to your wrist. Open your mouth? I’ll place the pills on your tongue, and then hold a glass to your lips and help you drink.” Darcy doesn’t bother agreeing, just slowly opens her mouth wide enough for Nat to slip the pills in, and then gratefully chases the bitter, chemical taste off her tongue with a few small sips of mineral water. “Not too much. Let that settle, and if you can keep it down we’ll try some more in about fifteen minutes. Sound good?”

“Thanks.” Darcy sighs in relief as a cold damp cloth is placed on her forehead. “Ooooh, sweet Frigga, that’s much better. I’d kiss you but I think moving that fast might make me puke and also I really don’t want you to punch me. Also I haven’t had any coffee yet so please ignore anything possibly offensive that might come out of my mouth.”

A brief, low chuckle is all the warning she has before she registers the feel of lush, soft lips pressing against hers in a light kiss. Holy shit. The Black Widow is kissing her! If her head didn’t hurt so much she would be one hundred percent sure that she was dreaming.

“There. Kisses are supposed to make it feel better, yes? You’re welcome, and it’s the least I can do after you’ve had such a rude awakening. How are you feeling now?” Darcy can tell Natasha is smiling even without her eyes open to confirm it.

Darcy presses her lips together for a moment to burn the feel of Natasha Romanoff’s kiss deep into her memory to pull out and keep herself warm on particularly lonely nights, then answers the question. “I’d like to say that I’m feeling no pain after being kissed by your lovely, deadly, surprisingly effective nurse-ish self. But while I’m no longer in danger of passing out from the pain, my head is absolutely killing me. Why?”

“Hmm. What do you remember?” Natasha moves back a bit. “Would you like to sit up against the head of the bed? If your stomach has settled enough, you can let go of your wrist and scoot back to rest against the pillows.” 

Darcy does, and takes a moment to readjust the cloth on her forehead while thinking. Wait, Black Widow. A hospital room. Her eyes pop open as the events of yesterday return in a rush of technicolor memory. “Robbie! James! Are they okay?”

“There you go. Yes, they’re fine. Clint dropped both of them off at Lewis’ place yesterday after retrieving some things from Hathaway’s flat. Clint texted them this morning and they’re both doing as well as can be expected.” Natasha brings her hand up, and there’s something in her fingers. “Shall I put your glasses on for you?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She closes her eyes and sighs as the temple pieces slide over her ears and the nose pads slip into place over the bridge of her nose. She opens her eyes to lightly sparkling, gently amused eyes inches from her own. “Hey pretty lady. Did I thank you for coming to rescue us yesterday?”

Wow, Natasha’s smile is gorgeous now that it’s in focus. “From what I understand, you were holding your own. And Clint’s the one who helped out with that last, pesky one at the end.”

Darcy freezes, not even breathing for a moment as the sickening sound of Hawkeye’s exploding arrow echoing off brick walls replays in her mind. 

“Darcy? Hey, look at me.” Natasha’s suddenly even closer, hands on Darcy’s cheeks. “It’s over. Ian Boothby can’t hurt you again, okay?”

“I got shot.” Darcy reaches for her wrist again as her stomach turns, but her hands are shaking too much to find the pressure points. Those slim, strong fingers take over and once again press firmly. 

“Yeah, you did. That’s why your head hurts so much. You’ve got a bullet crease on the left side of your head, scrapes and a whole bunch of small cuts from flying glass, and I would imagine all the bruises have started coming up in a variety of colors all over your body.” Darcy can see another small smile curving the corners of Natasha’s mouth. “And you’ll probably have a really nice bruise come up right in the middle of your forehead after this morning’s wake up call. But you’re alive. Everyone is alive, if a little worse for the wear, but you will all heal. Concentrate on that, okay?”

Darcy exhales slowly and nods very slightly. 

“I bet a hot shower will help with the body aches. Rest here for a moment and we’ll get you a piece of toast so the medication doesn’t make you feel any more queasy, and some coffee. And if you’re feeling better after that, a shower. You can’t wash your hair yet, but I picked up a shower cap so you don’t have to fuss with it.” Natasha very gently runs her fingers through Darcy’s hair. “I’ll help you braid and pin it for the shower. Your only goal for today is to get more rest.”

“Natasha?” Darcy’s voice is a lot more shaky than she’d like, but she presses on. “Why are you being so nice? We only just met.”

Natasha tips Darcy’s chin up gently, forcing her to meet suddenly serious green eyes. “Because I like you. Everything I know about you tells me that you’re strong, you’re brave, and you’re smart. I knew all that from SHIELD’s reports long before I met you.” A tinge of sadness shadows Natasha’s eyes. “You managed to impress Coulson, and that’s not easy to do. I trust his judgment.” Another moment’s pause. “You’re the kind of girl I wish I’d had the chance to be, Darcy. You’ve been swept into a world and situations not of your making, and you’re still holding your own. And you’re doing it without any training. I admire that. Life isn’t going to get any less difficult from here. I will do what I can to make it easier for you. We could make it more complicated, but honestly, it’s just that simple.”

Darcy takes a moment to absorb that, but it’s all just a bit too much. She’ll take Natasha at face value for now. “Okay.”

Natasha smiles, suddenly strangely shy. “Plus you wouldn’t believe how much of a sausage fest this world is. It would be nice to have a female friend without an agenda for once.”

“Now that I can believe.” Darcy nods, careful of her head. “I think you said something about coffee?”

“The most important meal of the day. Wait here. Oh, if you’re up to it, Jane would really like to see you. Shall I let her in?”

“Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pressure point thing is totally swiped from Xena: Warrior Princess & the way they managed Gabrielle's epic sea sickness.


	2. Jane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane reflects on her best friend.

Hovering in the doorway to Darcy’s room, the only thing Jane can think to say is, “Well, fuck.”

God, she’s been a shitty friend. So wrapped up in her determination to prove her theories are right. Every sneering face, every dismissive comment, every man who reached out to pat her on the head, verbally or, a few memorable times, physically… she’d wanted to show them _all_.

And she had. She’d found her answers and oh so very much more that night in the crisp air of a clear New Mexico night. She’d also found a dawning hope, a chance, a possibility of something more with a golden prince who carries a hammer instead of a sword.

Only to lose it all a few days later. Lost in a swirl of sparkling rainbow light and left with little but the smoldering embers of a possibility, burned in an intricate pattern upon the ground. 

If SHIELD thought that confiscating her research would discourage her from seeking answers after she’d learned she was on the right track, they’d been sorely mistaken. The first year had been hard, rebuilding and recreating what SHIELD didn’t return, and holding fast to that spark of hope Thor had kindled during his brief visit to their world.

The second year was even harder, as that spark slowly smothered under the weight of her doubt and despair at her inability to find the way to reconstruct the bridge between her realm, her heart and his.

And then, on the very day she’d finally decided to move forward with her life and put aside the idea of ever reuniting with Thor, Darcy crashed her date with a device and a whole lot of new, yet familiar readings.

Thor crashed into her life slightly less dramatically the second time than his first, but boy did he make up for it later with the battle against the Dark Elves. She also hadn’t really counted on being possessed by a remnant of a singularity that predated their universe, and she wished she’d had more time on both Asgard and Svartalfheim. Her experience with Frigga had been so brief, and now she’ll never have the opportunity to sit down with Thor’s mom and hear her tales of his childhood. Her heart aches for Thor and, even though she thinks he’s kind of a horrible person, for Odin too.

Being compared to a goat isn’t ever going to be on her list of favorite moments, and part of her wishes she’d had enough control over the Aether to smack Odin upside the head for his arrogance. She’s saved the known universe. If that doesn’t impress the potential father-in-law, Jane really can’t fathom what the hell ever could.

But at what cost?

Hosting the Aether had been excruciating, but it’s nothing compared to the pain in her heart as she stands, frozen in the doorway to Darcy’s room, gazing at her battered and weary friend. 

Jane knows that she hasn’t exactly been the best boss, or the best friend or even a very good human being at times. And through all the craziness of the past couple of years, Darcy has been there. Helping with the research that she is in no way really qualified for. Making sure they have a roof over their heads. Insistently, annoyingly, pushing Jane to eat when she’s been so lost in her research and searching for answers that she can’t remember when anything but coffee last passed her lips. Has actually tossed her, clothes and all, into an already running shower when personal hygiene has taken a backseat for far too long.

Darcy’s been there for studly men falling into their lives out of nowhere. They stood shoulder to shoulder against the jackbooted thugs stealing her research. Her friend stood by her as she tried to rebuild, to continue the search. She was there through an alien invasion, and the resulting self destruction of Jane’s oldest friend and father figure. Darcy did her best to keep her moving forward after she had told herself she was done waiting for Thor, even if she could never quite smother the tiny ember of hope buried so far inside herself that she nearly forgot it was there.

Darcy stayed with her through the disaster that was Norway.

Nothing has been the same since Norway.

Jane stands in the doorway to Darcy’s bedroom, gazing at her friend who less than twenty four hours ago had come within a hairsbreath of death by way of a bullet to the head, and vows to be a better friend to this extraordinary young woman to whom she owes her life and her happiness.

Even if it means letting Darcy go, allowing her to make her own way and to find her own path, away from Jane and her own uncertain future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, after the events of the Dark World, I'm freakin' amazed that Jane's on her feet & for all intents and purposes, completely functional. Respect.


	3. Robbie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie's thoughts after his adventures in accidental drug exposure, delivered via the dart in "I'm No Cinderella".

“Ohhh, bugger.”

He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet and Robbie’s fairly sure he doesn’t want to. He can feel his heartbeat in his head, and there’s an entirely new and different level of generalized achiness going on that he’s never experienced before and hopes he never will again.

As he lies there, trying to gather the will to get out of the bed, the events of the previous day filter in to his memory. He doesn’t remember much after they’d stopped for coffee. Just a sharp spike of pain followed by a rush of alarm and quick fade to black, but James, Barton and Thor had all filled in the blank spots while they were treated at the hospital.

Darcy, attacked and nearly killed by a band of unknown assailants. James, shot while doing his best to defend his fallen partner and the civilian who appeared to be the target of the attack. Hawkeye, methodically working his way through the attackers, though there were too many to take care of before they hurt his family. Thor, arriving a bit too late to contribute to the skirmish but his assistance in getting Darcy to medical had been very welcome.

And now they’ve made the acquaintance of the Black Widow, however briefly and under an alias.

Robbie’d thought his life would calm down as he reached retirement age. He can’t help but feel like he’s unintentionally thrown a gauntlet at the feet of the Fates, and they’ve taken it up with narrowed eyes and an plan for teaching him a lesson.

And as much as he’d like to linger in this warm bed, his body is demanding the chemical relief that’s in the prescription bottle in the bathroom. James, stubborn arse that he is, will probably also need to down his meds. He can’t hear James stirring, so he might as well get his old bones out of bed and do what he can for the man. A glass of water and a couple of pills seems like a poor reward for a bullet in the arm, but they’ll be enough for now.

James had once again been in mortal danger, and Robbie will feel better if he can just get an eye on the man and reassure himself that he’s okay. James might be an awkward sod, but he’s Robbie’s awkward sod. They aren’t just partners, they’re friends. 

Steeling himself, Robbie reaches for the covers, groaning as every bit of his body complains.

“Fucking hell, what was in that dart?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but succinct. And hopefully a bit sweet.
> 
> I love comments. Did I mention that? ;)
> 
> Also, if you're reading and don't have an AO3 account but would like one, poke me on tumblr or twitter under the same username. I can send you an invite if you'd like.


	4. James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James really doesn't want to get out of bed.

The bolt of white hot pain lancing through his arm banishes the lingering cobwebs of sleep much more effectively than the stretch he had originally intended to perform ever could. A hiss of pain escapes James’ lips, and he closes his eyes against involuntary tears.

“Fuck!”

His mostly involuntary curling inward to cradle his injured arm wakes the bed’s other occupant, who, James notes, seems to have no problem whatsoever with a long, luxurious stretch of all four limbs.

“Mrrrpt?” Monty finishes mocking the human, however unintentionally, with his feline flexibility and carefully picks his way over James’ legs and up the bed towards his face. The cat stops to cautiously sniff at the bandage around the bullet wound in his left arm before sneezing in disdain and coming to peer into James’ face, whiskers tickling his skin.

“Daft cat,” James mumbles, breathing heavily and trembling slightly. He’ll reach for the painkillers so kindly provided by the hospital, just as soon as he feels like he can sit up without retching.

Monty, apparently concerned for his friend, reaches out a soft paw and gently taps the side of James’ face. “Mrrrrr,” he says, consolingly, and tries to provide further comfort by shoving his head under James’ chin and purring loudly.

James, oddly touched by this show of feline support, awkwardly tries to stroke whatever bit of fur he can reach with his good arm pinned beneath him. This is obviously even more concerning to Monty, however, given that James usually takes the time to give him a thorough petting whenever no one is around to see, because he pulls back and stares into James’ face. He then gingerly pads his way up towards the top of the pillow, eventually settling curled neatly around James’ head. Reaching out, he gently places one paw on his injured companion’s cheek, and sets about thoroughly grooming the eyebrow within reach, purring comfortingly all the while.

James can’t help the smile curling the corners of his mouth, even as he grimaces a bit from the sandpapery feel of Monty’s tongue industriously working on his face. A whisper of sound from the doorway makes him glance up and right into the grinning face of Robbie Lewis. Who is holding his phone up towards James and has obviously just taken a picture of the touching scene.

“Just tell me you didn’t send that to Innocent,” James says, voice gravelly from sleep. “I don’t think our boss needs a picture of me shirtless in bed with your cat.”

Another huff of amusement from Robbie. “Now there’s a thought. Might work a treat to get us out of the bollocking that’s waiting for us.” He slides his phone into the pocket of the bathrobe he’s wearing and picks up the empty glass sitting on the bedside table. “We’ll have to save it for the calendar. Let me get you some water and we’ll get your pills in you.”

James sighs and mutters, “Rather have some coffee.” Apparently not quietly enough, as Robbie just gives him an exasperated look when he returns with a full glass of water. 

“Do you need some help sitting up?” he asks James as hands over the water and scoops Monty up from where the cat’s settled down. Monty protests, but James is thankful as it’s easier to sit up without wearing a cat on one’s head. He gratefully swallows the pills Robbie hands him, and carefully eases his aching body into a position where he can comfortably lean against the headboard.

“Thanks. How are you feeling? Are you sure the doctor said the sedative would flush from your system this quickly?” James scrubs his good hand over his face, hearing the rasp of stubble against his palm.

“We don’t have to be anywhere today, so take it easy. I’m fine.” Robbie rounds the end of the bed and sits on the other side, facing James. “Completely knackered still, and me head feels like someone’s been banging away at it like it’s a set of steel drums all night, but I’ll be fine with a bit more sleep.” Robbie yawns so wide James can hear his jaw crack from where he sits. “How’s the dressing? Reckon we need to change it, like?”

James can’t believe how quickly the painkillers are taking hold, and then he remembers that they haven’t had anything to eat since lunch at Malmaison yesterday. He yawns too, eyelids suddenly heavy, then peers down at his arm. “I think it’s fine for now. Maybe later? Laura will undoubtedly be by at some point. Maybe she can change it then.”

Robbie nods and yawns again. “I might have underestimated how tired I am, just a wee bit.”

James nods sleepily, and slides down the bed again, comfortably under the covers. Snuggling into his pillow, he sleepily says, “It’s a big bed. You can have that half.”

The last thing James hears is the sound of Robbie’s robe being slung over the end of the bed and the feeling of the duvet being pulled back before he slides into a more restful slumber than he’s had in months.

*****

James wakes at the sound of another picture being taken by someone’s camera phone. Did they all use that fake camera shutter sound? He knows he should probably be concerned that there’s someone in the flat, but all his attention is on the big, strong, undeniably male arm currently threaded under his own injured one. There’s a broad, warm hand resting low on his stomach, and in his sleep James appears to have covered it with his own, holding that lovely hand in place. There’s also something quite a bit larger than Monty nestled up against his back, and he can feel someone’s breath on his neck.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re in bed together.” Laura’s highly amused tsking is an unwelcome intrusion into a moment James never thought he’d get to experience. “One shot, the other drugged, and our new friend held hostage at gunpoint and with a bullet crease in her head. Tell me again why I had to hear about all this from Jean Innocent?”

“Laura, leave off would you? What time’s it?” Robbie’s voice is heavy with sleep and it sends a thrill through James.

“Nearly three in the afternoon.” James can hear the frown in Laura’s voice as she comes closer to the bed. James isn’t sure if he’s terrified or thrilled that Robbie has yet to release him from his embrace. “James, are you awake?”

“Present. I think.” James’ mouth is so dry he can barely croak out the words.

“Have you both been asleep all this time?” Oh dear, that’s Laura’s doctor voice.

“Took my pills about nine this morning, fell asleep again right after. So tired couldn’t make it back to my room, so slept here.” Robbie still hasn’t moved, and in fact rubbing his hand against James’ stomach. Almost petting him. Apparently unconsciously. At least, James thinks it must be because he’d never do that while he was truly awake.

Right?

“That’s not right. When did you last eat?” Laura’s examining the bottles containing the painkillers and antibiotics for James. 

Robbie sighs and squeezes James a bit tighter around the middle as both their stomachs rumble on cue. “Lunch. Yesterday.”

“Good lord. Robbie, is the dose prescribed to you the same as James’?” The urgent tone of Laura’s voice has both of them raising their heads off the pillow.

“Probably. Why?”

“The label is correct, but the contents most definitely are _not_. Someone has given you both the wrong dosage. Much higher and I’m not sure you would’ve woken at all.” Laura claps her phone to her ear and strides out of the room, speaking to whoever picks up on the other end quite authoritatively. The undercurrent of anger in her voice is strong. 

“Glad I’m not the one she’s talking to,” Robbie mumbles.

“Mmm,” James replies. He knows he should be feeling a lot more concerned, but he’s warm, his arm is only faintly throbbing, and he’s being snuggled by Robbie Lewis. Frankly anything else is irrelevant.

Laura apparently does not agree, as she comes back into the room after a bit and starts tugging at the duvet. “Up. Both of you. I don’t think you’ve had enough to warrant heading back to the A&E, but time for food and coffee.” Neither of the men move. “I mean it. I will get the ice water if I have to. Or call for an ambulance and you can spend another evening being poked and prodded in very uncomfortable ways.”

Robbie groans and after one last pat to James’ stomach, very gently slides his arm out from under James’ injured one. “I don’t think I’ve got anything you’d consider edible, Laura.”

“Then it’s a good thing I brought over a chicken and rice casserole, isn’t it,” she replies tartly. “It’s not got a patch on what your delightful cousin made the other night, Robbie, but it’s mild enough not to upset your stomachs.” 

“Ah hell. I wonder how the lass is doing.” Robbie’s managed to haul himself upright and is tucking himself into his robe. “I should call. I don’t want to wake her though, if she’s not already up.”

“Actually, it might be good to get her on the phone to check her prescription as well.” The two seem to be carrying on the conversation without his input, and James snuggles into the pillow in the ridiculous hope that they’ll forget about him and head on out to the kitchen, leaving him to sleep and to try to affix these past few moments of comfort into his memory.

Alas, it’s not to be. James feels gentle fingers run through his hair. The hand is much smaller than the one he was effectively holding moments ago. It’s not quite as welcome, but it still feels good when it comes to rest on his flushed cheek. “James? I know you don’t feel great but I really do need you to get up and get moving. We need to get some food in your system and give your body the resources it needs to flush the drugs from your system that much faster, okay? Here, let me help you get the sling on.”

James sighs and opens his eyes to blink solemnly at the doctor, who is peering down at him in concern. “Yes, ma’am.”

Laura rolls her eyes and reaches for the sling. Time to face the day then.

Bugger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had a Monty. Damn cat allergy. Hrmph.
> 
> I really feel like that tumblr meme applies here. James is a "beautiful cinnamon roll too good for this world, too pure". Or as I said to Medie: _He is a precious cinnamon roll that should be protected and held…still, while I lick all the frosting off of him._


	5. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura's woken by an unwelcome phone call, then receives a wake up call of a different sort.

“Damn it.” Laura fumbles for her mobile, continuing to mutter invectives under her breath as she’s shaken from the most marvellous dream involving two sets of hands not her own, and a smooth, lovely baritone voice murmuring the most delicious things in her ear, while another mouth does things to her neck that has her gasping.

She’d really been looking forward to seeing where that one went, even as her brain shies away from the likely identities of her dream partners.

“Hobson.”

“Laura? Jean Innocent. Don’t worry, they’re fine.”

Laura actually pulls the phone from her ear for a moment to look at it, making sure she’s taking a real call, then heaves the most heartfelt sigh she can muster as she flops back against her pillows. “The fact that you have to open the conversation like that does not inspire the utmost confidence. And you can only be calling about two particular men, so what have they gotten themselves into this time? And define ‘fine’.”

It’s been one day. One day since she’d had that delightful dinner at Robbie’s flat with his newly discovered cousin, and Hathaway. She’d risen early, long before her alarm, and gone in to work since she’d known she wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. After a surprisingly productive day, she’d had no qualms about leaving a bit early, given how many hours she’d already put in this week, and come home to have an early dinner and a quiet evening. A good portion of it had been spent enjoying the most luxurious bath she could muster, and then she’d happily curled up in bed to finish her latest re-read of _Master and Commander_. 

Laura shakes her head even now as she recalls the conversation she’d had with one of her youngest medical students. They’d bumped into one another waiting in a queue to get a coffee, and struck up a conversation about books. The young lady in question had asked her if it was part of that appalling Fifty Shades of Grey franchise, leaving Laura speechless with horror.

Really, if she was going to talk about books on BDSM there were so many better examples of the genre, and half a dozen she could name off the top of her head. She’s pulled from her woolgathering as Jean continues.

“They were apparently outside a coffee shop and were attacked by a group of unknown assailants carrying high-powered guns. In Oxford. James has been shot, in the arm, but is otherwise uninjured. Robbie was hit with some sort of dart carrying an unknown drug cocktail? It’s not entirely clear to me, and I’m having a tremendously difficult time getting information about my own officers who were injured during an incident in _my city_.” The stress and irritation in the Chief Superintendent’s voice is unmistakable.

“What?! This is your definition of fine?! Are they at the Radcliffe?” Laura feels she can be forgiven for the way her voice rises both in pitch and volume as she throws the covers off and grabs the nearest pair of jeans to hand.

“They were taken to A&E as soon as the scene was secured. I’ve been able to confirm that they’re both conscious, in full possession of whatever faculties they normally possess, though I’ve managed to get precious little other information out of anyone.”

Laura pauses her frantic efforts to get dressed. “What do you mean, you can’t get more information?” Anyone who has the balls to stonewall CS Jean Innocent about two of her favourite detectives must have an incredible amount of weight behind them, and since she generally is able to get information through the Superintendent grapevine when it comes to inter-agency cooperation? 

Laura feels a chill as Jean keeps talking.

“It’s the most enormous inter-jurisdictional mess I think they’ve managed to land me in so far, and I’m including Greenwich because at least there they weren’t injured or the targets of the attack. Oh, and if you were getting dressed to go over to the JR, don’t bother. If they won’t let me in, I doubt you’re going to get in just now, even with your medical credentials. I’ve been politely, but very firmly told that no one will be allowed to see them until otherwise notified.”

Laura’s mind races as she sinks to the bed. If they’re not letting Jean in to see her officers, then it’s probably something really big, and involving Robbie’s newly discovered cousin. With whom they’d made plans to do a day about town. Who knows at least a couple of Avengers, who are attached to a semi-secret global security organization.

“Was anyone else injured? Killed?”

“There are reports of multiple casualties at the scene, but no further details. No one called you because any dead bodies have been whisked away by SHIELD.”

“Ah, yes, they did that in Greenwich too.” Finally, Laura has something to contribute to the discussion.

“I don’t know why it’s always Lewis and Hathaway. Why is it always those two?” Jean’s voice carries a plaintive note that Laura’s never heard before, and she realizes that the woman is positively frightened by the thought that two of hers are injured and out of her reach. Laura hadn’t realized Jean cared so much about the boys, but after this many years of riding herd on the two that give her the most migraines, she figures Stockholm Syndrome has probably well and truly set in.

Well. And it’s Robbie and James. Those two boys. You can’t help but fall at least a little in love with both of them after repeated exposure.

Even as they simultaneously drive you right up the wall.

“I was helping SHIELD at Greenwich, and I can tell you that they are quintessentially calm, and professional, and that everyone may be exercising an abundance of caution given it’s only been a few days since Greenwich.”

There’s silence on the line for a long stretch, and then a deeply heartfelt sigh. “I hope you’re right,” Jean mutters. “I’ll continue doing what I can to get information, but if for some reason you manage to get hold of one or the other of the Dynamic Duo, give me a ring?”

“I will. Thank you for letting me know, Jean. Are you sure I can’t do anything for you? Bring you a coffee? Early breakfast?”

“I’m well looked after, but thank you.” Jean does sound a bit less harried now, so Laura figures it’s worth being woken if she’s helped Jean in even the slightest of ways.

“If you change your mind, ring me. I can probably slap together a bacon butty or something and drop it by.”

“You’re sweet, but no. Talk soon?”

“Yes. Thanks Jean.”

Jean ends the call and Laura sits, staring at her phone. Right, more information required.

Laura shrugs on her dressing gown and pads out to the kitchen. Putting the kettle on, she goes into the living room and turns on the telly. It’s not difficult to find a news programme talking about the attack, but she’s not interested in what they don’t know. She takes in the few pictures of the scene that can be shown, and hears the time of the attack and turns off the set. 

Based on the damage she can see, Robbie and James were quite lucky to get away with the wounds they did. There are plenty of bullet holes riddling the scene, and absolutely loads of damage to what she thinks may have been one of James’ favourite coffee shops. If the attack had happened around dinnertime, and if James’ gunshot wound was even moderately complicated they’re probably still in hospital. She’s a bit more worried about Robbie though. Drugs at a scene where by all accounts the attackers were wielding guns means they were trying to sedate someone instead of kill them, and knowing what she does about Robbie’s cousin and who she runs with, Laura would place good money on a bet that they were after Darcy. Given the disparity between Darcy and Robbie’s physiques, if the dose was meant for Darcy then Robbie may well have recovered already.

The kettle whistles, and Laura readies a cup of tea for herself. As it steeps, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and accesses Darcy’s newly added contact information. It’s not likely she’ll get a response if she calls, and she doesn’t want to disturb the girl if she is sleeping, so she taps out a text asking if Darcy’s okay and to please get in contact as soon as she can.

After adding a spoon of sugar, Laura sips at her cuppa and considers what to do next. Best case scenario, everyone is fine and they’ll likely be released before the sun comes up. In which case they’ll either head to Robbie’s or a secure location for some rest and recovery. Laura figures that SHIELD wouldn’t need to physically remove the detectives from the area, as that would likely mean more questions than they’d want to answer, but she does think Darcy may be headed out of town a bit earlier than expected. Thor had impressed her during their brief meeting with his care and attention to Doctor Foster, and he was obviously more than a bit fond of Darcy. Even if SHIELD was willing to let her stay in Oxford after this, she imagines Thor will not.

And who’s going to argue with the god of thunder?

Shame. She’d really been looking forward to another visit with the young woman. Anyone who can make the dishy Sergeant Hathaway blush like that nearly on command is someone to befriend.

Right. Assuming a release time of 5am, it’s not likely either of the boys will be in any kind of shape to see anyone before early afternoon.

To make herself feel better, she sends a text to both Robbie and James’ phones, then finishes her tea and sets the cup in the sink. As there’s not much else she can do at this time, she turns off the lights and heads back to bed. 

Plenty of time to worry about them all later this morning. For now, she’ll get as much rest as she can so she can tackle the Terrible Two in their den and boss them into taking care of themselves. At least for a couple of days.

As she snuggles up to her pillow, Laura firmly fixes her mind on the dream she’d been woken from by her phone, and hopes her subconscious will pick up where it had left off. That dream had been shaping up to be a spectacular one.

*****

It’s early afternoon before she finally gives in to temptation and drives herself over to Robbie’s flat so she can see for herself what kind of damage has been done to two of her favourite people. She pulls the bag containing the simple supper she’d prepared for the boys out of the passenger seat, and locks the car behind her.

She stops at the beginning of the path and sets the bag down, and holds her hands out to her sides, fairly casually. Laura’s scanning the vicinity for the officers or agents that she knows must be here somewhere when something swishes past her ear and buries itself with a thunk in the tree closest to her. She follows the line from where the arrow, yes an actual arrow, is buried to see a man with a quiver on his back ziplining down from the roof of Robbie’s building, using his bow as the support as he glides down to lightly land next to her.

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Laura nods at the whole arrow thing.

“Gotta do what I can to impress the ladies.” The man Darcy had introduced as Clint executes a showy bow that looks like something she’d see at a circus. Try as she might, she can’t help her snort of amusement, and bites her lip so the smile she can feel forming doesn’t bloom on her face.

“And how often does that actually work?”

He has no reservations whatsoever about turning the full force of his smile on her. The tape over what’s obviously a broken nose actually enhances the smile. She’s not sure how he manages to do that, but it works. “Not as often as I’d like, but more often than you’d think.”

“Really.” And he’s a charmer, isn’t he. His arms have some of the most impressive musculature she’s seen outside of, well. Thor. And while he’s not as handsome as some, he’s definitely got charisma.

“Any chance of it working on you?” A winsome smile accompanies the flirting. Along with some unconscious flexing of his arm muscles.

Probably unconscious. That is not a bet she would take, even as she enjoys the ripple effect. She’s a doctor. She can appreciate his anatomy.

“Doubtful, but I hear some like to live in hope.”

“Ooh, doc. I think I have a burn I need you to look at.”

And now she really does laugh out loud. “You’re incorrigible. Have I flirted enough to gain access to the building, or do we need to stand here and trade a few more quips while my casserole cools?”

Clint makes a show of considering for a moment, but then picks up her bag and after a cursory check, tips his head towards the building. “Shall we?”

“Thanks. Can you tell me how they are? I’ll get the details, or as many as they can share from them, but I could use an outside assessment of their injuries. Lord knows the two of them tend to downplay their bumps and bruises even when they’re something more serious.” 

Laura’s smile fades as she gets a bare bones status report from Clint. “Hathaway has a through and through in his left arm, not far from where he’s been shot previously. Lewis took a dart meant for Darcy, and the tox screen came back as something we’ve seen before in the field. It’s ultimately short acting, though it does cause overall muscle aches as the body goes into overtime to clear the sedative. He also has a mild concussion, as he whacked his head good when he went down. Since the dose was calibrated for the little Lewis, he’s better off than he could be, but he’s going to have a hell of a headache for a while.

“They’ve both got a nice collection of bruises and scrapes, as well as minor cuts from flying glass. But other than that, they’re okay. Could’ve been a lot worse. They were both awake briefly, earlier, but appear to have been sleeping since then.”

Laura sighs in relief. “And Darcy?”

“Bullet crease in her scalp on the left side of her head. That one was really close.” Clint’s face has gone stony, and his jaw is clenched in anger. She’s not surprised by this, as she could see the easy affection underneath the teasing the other night. It’s obvious Darcy and Clint are friends, and he’s worried about her too. “Received from a different gun than the one held to the right side of her head for a while, and she’s got a fairly good bruise on her temple from that. So other than some new experiences for that raging case of PTSD she’s developing, and what I know from experience is a hell of a headache, she’s fine.”

“You’ve seen her then?” Laura’s surprised.

“I did. Earlier today. Had to check in at their new HQ, and then caught a slightly less normal mode of transport back here to finish setting up security on your two. I’ll be here for a few days.” Clint turns what are admittedly excellent puppy dog eyes on her. “Any chance I could get some hands on care from a lady doc when I’m off duty for the day?”

“I’m sure someone will take pity if you hang about the entrance to A&E long enough.” As charming and attractive as he is, she’s really not sure going on a date with an Avenger is on her to-do list right now.

But she will admit, if only to herself, it’s terribly flattering to be asked.

“Ahh, like that is it.” Clint nods knowingly.

Laura curses the blush she can feel washing over her cheeks, but raises her chin and gives him her best glare. “Do you really want to tease someone who can expertly wield a bone saw?”

“Point taken, and no.” Clint chuckles, and Laura is terribly glad they’ve reached the door to Robbie’s flat. “Got a spare key?”

“I don’t. Think they’re up?”

“No need.” Clint does something with an arrowhead he slips from a pocket, and moments later he’s opening the door for her. “I’ll leave you here,” he says, handing her bag over. “You’ve been cleared to see them, so you shouldn’t be stopped again if you drop by within the next few days. Though of course, if you want to see me I can give you my number.”

“Do I need it?”

Clint studies her face for a moment, and then in all seriousness, replies. “It might not be a bad idea for you to be able to get in touch with me if you need to.” He ushers her into the flat and closes the door. After a moment’s rummaging, he comes up with a notepad and a pen, and scribbles off a few phone numbers. “Please don’t share these numbers with anyone but Lewis and Hathaway. I’ve listed six numbers in order of whom you should contact. Three of which are currently in the UK, and the ones to try first. The other three are based out of New York, and should probably only be used in case of a true emergency. Life or death type stuff.”

He rips the sheet of paper off the pad and holds it out to her. “Though of course if you’d like to use my number for any other reasons, please feel free.”

Laura rolls her eyes and tucks the paper in her pocket. She’ll add the numbers to her phone later, after she’s had the chance to check on the boys.

“Take care doc,” he says and closes the door gently behind himself.

Laura takes a moment to turn on the oven and slip the casserole in to slowly reheat before heading to the bedrooms. She’s surprised to see Robbie’s bed empty, but discovers the reason why when she eases open the door to the spare room. 

To her astonishment, Robbie and James are actually curled together in what looks like a tender embrace. The covers have been pushed down around their waists, and they’re sharing a pillow. She can see that Robbie’s spooning James, and they’re both dead to the world, breathing nearly in sync.

They look absolutely adorable, even with the stark white of the bandage over James’ bullet wound standing out in contrast to his lightly tanned skin. James is sporting some seriously impressive bed head, and while she can’t really see Robbie, since he’s pressed up against James’ back, she can see that he’s got one arm wrapped around James’ middle.

Moving as quietly as possible, she slips her phone from her pocket and takes her time lining up the perfect shot. A series of pictures later, James is stirring, having heard the shutter effect sound that she’d forgotten to mute in her haste to record the precious scene. Ah well. It’s time they were up anyway.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re in bed together.” She can’t help the way the amusement she’s feeling bleeds through her voice, but honestly. Precious. 

“Laura, leave off would you? What time is it?” Robbie’s voice is thick with sleep, and she notes with some interest that neither man has stirred from their cuddle, even knowing she’s in the room.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Nearly three in the afternoon.” This doesn’t provoke much of a reaction from either of them, and her doctor senses start tingling. She moves to the bed, peering more closely at both of them. “James, are you awake?”

The length of time it takes for him to respond is worrying, but eventually he does. “Present. I think.” Oh dear, he doesn’t sound good, and they’re still not moving. Laura’s alarm bells are starting to ring quite urgently.

“Have you both been asleep all this time?” Robbie responds, and she nods as she takes in what he’s saying, but her mind is racing. If they’d both taken their pills nearly six hours ago, neither of them should be this lethargic. Not with the painkillers that would’ve been prescribed for the injuries as described by Clint.

“When did you last eat?” she asks as she locates James’ prescription bottles. The dosage looks right on the label for the painkiller, but when she opens the bottle and takes a closer look at the pills inside, she hisses in outrage. The tablets inside are far stronger than what was indicated on the label. Robbie confirms that it’s been over twenty-four hours since they last ate, and Laura shakes her head.

“The label is correct, but the contents most definitely are not. Someone has given you both the wrong dosage. Much higher and I’m not sure you would’ve woken at all.” It’s the sort of mistake that can kill, and Laura’s fuming as she dials the head pharmacist to have a word. 

Her name and the tone of her voice is enough to get her an answer quite quickly, and she is not surprised to learn that the assistant pharmacist that she’d heard all kinds of rumours about is the one who filled their scripts last night. More than one person has landed back in the A&E recently due to errors on the part of that particular pharmacy assistant. She’s honestly not sure how he’d managed to graduate to begin with, but there’d been a lot of talk about the possibility of him helping himself to some of the stock.

The head pharmacist promises to suspend the assistant and begin disciplinary proceedings immediately. Laura hangs up, scowling, and marches back into the bedroom to pull at the duvet. “Up. Both of you.” They both need to get moving and get some food in their stomachs. She keeps talking, but they aren’t making any moves towards rising. “I mean it. I will get the ice water if I have to. Or call for an ambulance and you can spend another evening being poked and prodded in very uncomfortable ways.”

Robbie at least responds to the threat and gently eases himself away from James, who starts frowning immediately. She’s bantering with Robbie, but most of her attention is focused on the younger man. He suddenly looks bereft, and it tugs at her heart. Robbie may have the world’s largest blind spot when it comes to his partner, and while James keeps his regard for Robbie hidden, and hidden well much of the time, she knows it’s more than friendship James feels for Robbie. She wishes she hadn’t had to interrupt this moment between them.

James looks very young, suddenly, and she can’t help but reach out and run her fingers through his hair, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. He smiles, faintly, which she takes as a good sign. “James? I know you don’t feel great but I really do need you to get up and get moving.” The man has few reserves, and though he knows what to do since he’s already been shot in that arm once, he’s seemed a bit off lately. Might need a bit more hands on care this time to make sure he recovers as he should. “We need to get some food in your system and give your body the resources it needs to flush the drugs from your system that much faster, okay? Here, let me help you get the sling on.”

James heaves a sigh that sounds like it comes from the depths of his soul, and finally blinks his eyes open to focus on her. She catches a glimpse of loneliness in his eyes before his normal mask is back in place. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, managing to take the piss out of her while drugged up and lying down.

Laura rolls her eyes at him, gently tugs his hair briefly in playful retaliation, and reaches for the sling. 

It doesn’t take long to get him into it, though they do have a hitch in the proceedings when he realizes he needs to don a shirt before they get the sling on. It’s nice to get confirmation that he’s actually a full body blusher, or at least he goes a bit pink over all the skin she can see before he gets a shirt on. He’s wearing pyjama pants, so she’s not exactly sure how far the blush goes down, but her knowing chuckle makes him color more intensely while she helps him into the T-shirt. 

A few moments more and his arm is well supported. She gently smooths the fabric of the sling down, and then, since she’s been worried about him, takes the opportunity to slip her arms around him for a moment. She can feel him start in surprise, but he wraps his good arm around her shoulders and hugs back as best he can. “I’m sorry you got shot, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad we’re all okay.” His voice is quiet, and when she pulls back he looks troubled.

“Want to talk about it?” It never does to push James before he’s ready to open up. 

His smile is small, but genuine when he meets her eyes. “Not yet. But thanks.” 

She nods. ‘Not yet’ isn’t ‘never’, so she’ll leave it be for now. 

She keeps an arm wrapped around his waist, and she’s pleased that he leaves his arm where it is as they walk out to the kitchen. Robbie’s on the phone, and he immediately beckons Laura over. 

“I did, thank you. One moment while Doctor Hobson reviews them,” he says to whomever is on the other end of the line. He holds out his phone, and indicates that she should look at the pictures he’s pulled up.

Ahh, Darcy’s prescription. Whoever took the pictures has been very thorough, taking more than enough shots of the label and the contents for her to feel confident that Darcy’s pills, at least, are as prescribed. She smiles at Robbie, who slumps in relief. “They’re fine,” she murmurs.

James, with one last squeeze, heads over to take over making coffee, a task he can perform one-handed after much practise during the aftermath of the case at Crevecoeur. She’s distracted from her contemplation of James by Robbie holding the phone out to her again. 

“Thor’d like a word.”

Laura’s eyebrows go up, because it’s not often you talk to an alien prince on a mobile, but she takes the phone. “Thor? Laura Hobson. How is Darcy doing?”

“Doctor. She has slept for many hours now. I grow concerned, as this is not like her.” Thor’s voice is a pleasant rumble, which she shouldn’t find so sexy given the topic under discussion.

And Laura can well believe that it’s not Darcy’s normal mode of operation to be still for very long. “So I gather and can believe after meeting her a few nights ago. But Robbie tells me that she said she’s not been sleeping very well for a few weeks now, and especially not after the events in Greenwich.”

She’d initially been quite surprised with the speed at which Robbie had bonded with the young woman, but after meeting her, she can understand why he’s taken her under his wing. She’s witty, and sparkling, and obviously whip smart, and says the most outrageous things with a sly look in her eye that invites you in on the joke. Darcy is very thoroughly American, and Laura believes Robbie probably takes a not-so-secret delight in being around someone who isn’t afraid to say what she thinks, without any regard for social niceties, decorum or the very British way of dryly understating practically everything.

The fact that she drives James absolutely insane at times is also a nice bonus.

She’s been answering Thor’s questions with half her attention, but when he thanks her for the very basic advice she’s been able to give over the phone, she melts a little. He seems like a very sweet, sincere man. Alien. How should they refer to him? “Call me Laura, please. Let me give you my number in case you have any additional questions.”

A moment more and she’s handing the phone back to Robbie, who ends the call shortly after.

The silence is broken only by the sound of James opening the cabinet and pulling down three mugs for coffee. Robbie rubs his hands over his face and stands to help, since James can’t carry everything with just one hand. “Oh sit down, both of you, and get some of that coffee in you.” Laura presses James down into the chair she’s just risen from and goes to get out the plates and cutlery. “We’ll eat, and you can give me a recap of what happened, and just this once, I’ll call Jean and update her so you don’t have to.”

The relief on both their faces is so profound as to be nearly comical. “You are Florence Nightingale made flesh,” James says, gracing her with the first real smile she’s seen out of him for some time.

Laura snorts in response. “Hardly. She was a nurse, for starters. But it won’t do any of you any good to rile one another up while you’re both so poorly. Jean called me very early this morning, and was obviously incredibly worried about you both. Apparently she’d been stonewalled in her attempts to get information on your condition, and if she’s been awake this whole time, dealing with the aftermath of whatever happened, I can’t see a conversation with either of you going smoothly. Do you?”

They wince in unison. Robbie reaches up and tugs at his ear as he responds. “Er, no. Natalie Rushman did say that SHIELD had sent a report we could share with her to the tablets Darcy gave us. James, could you pull it up? Laura, if you want to read through that first, we can answer any questions you might have afterward. I’m not entirely sure how much we can share with you, actually.”

Laura’s all ready to open her mouth and squawk in outrage, but stops before she says a word. 

This isn’t their average case. They’re all very well acquainted with murder and mayhem, given the work that they do, but this is on a whole new level. She’s not been able to take the time to really contemplate what she’d seen in Greenwich, or what it means for all of them. Her friends, her family, old and new. 

What it means for the future of humanity, or the planet as a whole.

Her eyes go wide, and her breath hitches as she falls into the nearest chair. Before the panic can really set in, though, she’s startled by the feeling of James’ hand on her cheek. “Breathe, Laura. Just breathe.” She meets his eyes, and she can see a sort of rueful acknowledgment. Of course the man with a background in theology would have thought about this since the Greenwich. She distantly feels Robbie take her hand, squeezing gently, but her attention is focused on James.

“Just breathe. One day at a time. Or, if you’re like me, one hour at a time.” He smiles at her encouragingly. “Let’s get through the report, check in with Innocent, have some food and if you want to, we can talk after that. Yeah?”

She can’t speak through the sudden lump in her throat, but she nods. She feels very foolish, having blithely sailed along, business as usual since she’d returned from what was, for all intents and purposes, a battlefield. 

Perhaps she can chalk it up to a case of, ‘physician, heal thyself’ and lean on her friends a bit while she gets a grip on a new world view that’s manifested in the blink of an eye.

She smiles a bit tearily at James, and pats his hand in thanks for helping her through her moment of panic. He nods and lets her go. As she rises to start dishing out the casserole, she drops a kiss on Robbie’s cheek too.

For all her amusement earlier at finding them cuddled up to one another, she finds she suddenly understands why they instinctively sought each other out after this latest round of trouble. She’s intensely glad they’re both here for her own moment of epiphany.

There’s suddenly nowhere else on earth she’d rather be than with the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She just sort of tapped me on the shoulder and said she had some thoughts. IDEK. I'm not going to argue with a forensic pathologist. They probably know how to make you disappear so that no one will ever find you.
> 
> So much thanks to Tehomet, who reminds me to add (entirely superfluous, mutters the American) extra letters when my British characters are talking, who kindly reminds me that hyphens exist, and who drops stray commas in as necessary to keep me from looking like an absolute tit. Or tries, anyway. It's certainly not for lack of effort on her part if I do.


	6. Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor reflects on recent events, and his new companions on Midgard.

Thor frowns at the device on the coffee table in front of him. It’s vibrated repeatedly over the past few minutes, and though he knows it is slightly taboo in this culture, he reaches out and picks it up. The screen flashes once more with the name ‘Robbie Lewis’ before falling dark and silent in his hand. Ah, Darcy’s family is trying to reach her. He performs the motion Darcy had informed him is called ‘swiping’ to wake the device, and sees that the Inspector has called three times in the past hour. 

There are also a number of short messages Darcy has told him are ‘texts’. One of them is a picture, and he taps the message in the list to make it larger. His face creases in a broad smile at the image of the man known as James Hathaway looking sleepy and rumpled and apparently pinned under a small, furry animal who is industriously licking at his face. That tiny paw must be mighty indeed to pin such a tall, strong man so effectively.

If her family has called this many times in such a short time frame, perhaps it is important that they reach her. Thor stands and quietly moves towards the bedroom Darcy’s occupying for the time being. She had been sleeping heavily each time he and his companions have checked on her, after this morning’s incident with the Hawk. He eases the door to her room open, and pads toward the bed. Thor can barely see her under the mound of blankets she’s burrowed into, but her breathing is slow and steady, and what he can see of her face appears untouched by pain. 

The device in his hand buzzes again, and after checking the name he answers this time. “Darcy Lewis’ phone of awesomesauce. Thor speaking.”

There’s a moment of silence that somehow manages to come across as startled, even with the absence of sound, before a male voice sounds in his ear. “Ah, Prince Odinson? Robbie Lewis.”

“Greetings, Inspector. I would not normally answer Darcy’s phone for her, but she is asleep. I saw that you have been trying to reach her. Is something amiss?” 

“There might be. It looks like the medication we were given at the hospital is far stronger than it should be. Has she been awake at all today?”

Thor frowns. “She was awake briefly this morning, took some of the medication as recommended, and has been sleeping since. Is this not correct?”

He hears a sigh echo down the line. “I’m here with our friend Laura Hobson. You met her, briefly.”

“Yes. She is a healer.”

“She is, and she would like you to check the bottle that has the pills Darcy’s taking. If you could take a picture of the writing, and open it and take a picture of the pills inside? That way we can check to see if she also got the wrong medication.”

Thor frowns harder. “One moment, Inspector Lewis. I shall endeavor to do as you ask without disconnecting us, but if I do I shall contact you again immediately.”

“Call me Robbie, please. If you can manage to do that picture thing, I’ll no longer have an excuse for not being able to do that meself, but for Darcy, I can learn.”

Thor can hear a snort of amusement in the background that can only come from Robbie’s partner, and he smiles in response. He carries the phone with him to the bathing room, where he finds the small bottles that contain the pills in question. He carefully accesses the camera function on the phone and sends the requested pictures through to Robbie. “I thank you for the gift of your familiar name. Please address me as Thor. Did you receive them?”

“I did, thank you. One moment while Doctor Hobson reviews them.”

Thor nods and strides back to stand in the doorway to Darcy’s room. She shows no signs of having moved, and the bandage over the wound on her head stands out in stark contrast to her mass of dark curls.

They are so fragile, his new friends. Loki was not wrong when he talked of the disparity between their life spans and those of Midgardians. As a warrior, Thor is intimately acquainted with loss. As a member of the ruling house of Asgard, and a leader in his own right, sacrifice and hard choices are something he has lived with all his life. 

His new teammates are fearsome warriors in their own, unique ways. He still worries for them, as they are all still mostly human, but he knows that their various enhancements serve them in good stead as they work together to defend this world. 

Stark, absolutely dedicated to chasing redemption for the wrongs he committed in his arrogance and ignorance, bending his formidable resources and intellect to help heal and protect where he once caused great harm. His careless, capricious manner is an effective mask to hide his incredible heart and tender feelings from those who seek to wound him. Thor is very thankful that Stark is such a generous host and is doing everything possible to help ease his transition to residing on Midgard indefinitely. 

The good Captain, whose inner strength and resilience have been sorely tested as he struggles to adapt to a world and a time not his own, bowing beneath a burden he feels honoured to carry, but not yet broken. A figure of myth on this world, yet still just a man, and a young one at that. But a natural leader, and one that Thor is honoured to follow. It is no small thing to be able to inspire loyalty and respect from one who would be king, and while Rogers is aware of the power at his command in a way that Jane and Darcy are not, it is merely a tool in his arsenal for defence and never to be used for his own gain. In honouring their connection in this way, the Captain proves himself worthy of it. 

Doctor Banner, for whom Thor has nothing but respect. Thor’s culture is the source of the berserker warrior myths on this world, after all. But those warriors who wear the skin of the bear do so only on the battlefield, where Banner must negotiate with his inner demons and the Hulk every moment of every day. It is an amazing test of endurance, of balance, and Thor is often in awe at how well the unassuming man maintains his equilibrium, while still contributing great things to this world’s body of knowledge in science and technology in his quest to find answers.

The Hawk, so quiet and unassuming, far from the perfect soldier yet steady and deadly in his own unique way. He is not just an excellent archer but an exceptional warrior. He has to be, to have been the Widow’s partner for so many years. Thor does not know Barton as well as he would like to, but he knows that his mere presence reminds Barton of his ordeal under Loki’s thrall. There is nothing Thor can do to ease that pain, and so he respects the unvoiced request to keep his distance and allows Barton to take the lead on their interactions. 

Last, but not least, there is the Lady Widow. Thor is ashamed to think of how he might have treated her, had he not the shining example of a female warrior in the Lady Sif. Romanoff, on the surface, is little but feminine charm and wiles. Familiar, after a fashion, as he has seen the like with Amora and Lorelei. He would be a fool to dismiss her out of hand, though, as he has seen through her veneer to the warrior beneath. Thor can see the best traits of Loki in the way she can adapt and change herself to any situation on demand. (It is a comparison he is smart enough not to make anywhere outside his own head.) A trickster of a sort, she takes satisfaction in her skills when her battle is won, yet there is no malice in her actions, however piercing or brutal they may be. Merely an honest desire to use her abilities to their best advantage. The Widow plays a deadly game, and woe betide the unwary who wander into her web. She, like Stark, yearns for redemption even as she knows she can never atone for her past actions, and Thor respects her resolve to stay the course, no matter how difficult it may become.

He must not forget the Lady Pepper, who in her grace and warmth reminds him of his mother. Ms Potts is the embodiment of many feminine ideals, from her elegance befitting a queen, to the charming sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the merry light in her eyes when she laughs. Her skill at handling all the necessary tasks that form the foundation of a dynasty is obvious and unparalleled. But underneath the charm lies a determination as strong and unyielding as Mjolnir herself. Were he not so devoted to his Jane, Thor knows he could easily fall under the thrall of the Lady Pepper. He had said as much, after a call held via speaker on Darcy’s phone as they drove back to Cambridge from Oxford. Darcy had simply patted his hand and sighed, “Dude. We all feel like that about Pepper.” Every occupant in the vehicle, including Jane and the Widow, had nodded in agreement. He’d felt better about his adoration after that.

And then there is Darcy’s newly discovered family member, his partner, and his friend the healer. All bravely venturing forth to bring justice to those brought low by evil, and with no special skills or enhancements beyond their own natural cunning, wit and determination. He is humbled by their courage and valour, eclipsing even that of many a warrior with whom he has gone into battle and who now sup at the tables of Valhalla. Thor can also see echoes of the kindest, most gentle moments of his childhood with Odin in Robbie. He hopes that Darcy will allow herself to experience similar moments with her cousin while she is still young enough to allow such attention to soothe the wounds her own family have left behind.

But Jane and Darcy? These two women are precious. One the love he never thought he would find, and the other the sister he never had. They have conquered his defenses as if they didn’t exist, stormed his heart and taken up residence when he least expected it. Claimed him as their own, though they may not know it.

There is nothing he would not do for either woman. He wonders if they understand the power they hold in their small, delicate, and clever hands. He suspects they do not. Even if they did understand, he knows they would never abuse that power, and the mere fact binds him ever closer to them.

He is no bard, able to bend and shape words to his will to share the truths of his heart with any who may hear his tale. Perhaps he may borrow the words of one, though, and use their skill to express all he feels. He will ask the Sergeant, the next time they speak, if he knows of any who may help him find the right way to tell Jane and Darcy of his devotion.

In the meantime, he will use the lessons he has learned from watching his mother and father all these years. Thor believes the Midgardians would use the phrase, “actions speak louder than words”, but it would be good to have some words at his disposal as well as deeds. He sits on the bed next to Darcy, anxiously waiting for an answer from the healer, and he reaches out to gently brush back a set of curls lying against her cheek. 

“Thor? Are you still there?” Robbie’s voice emanates from the phone, and Thor picks it up again. 

“Aye. What does the good healer have to say?”

“She’ll be fine. The script was filled as written. And it’s a good thing too. She’s such a wee thing that if she’d gotten the same dose James and I did, she’d be in a bad way now. But there’s no cause for concern on that front. My apologies for the false alarm.”

“Nay, I appreciate the care you show for my friend.” Thor sighs. “I have little experience with the healing of Midgardians, and I am keenly aware that I know not what her progress should be.”

There’s the sound of the phone being passed, and then the voice of the healer is in his ear. “Thor? Laura Hobson. How is Darcy doing?”

“Doctor. She has slept for many hours now. I grow concerned, as this is not like her.”

The doctor’s voice is wry when she responds. “So I gather and can believe after meeting her a few nights ago. But Robbie tells me that she said she’s not been sleeping very well for a few weeks now, and especially not after the events in Greenwich.”

Ah. “I have not been back for long, and she left to visit Robbie shortly after I arrived. I was unaware that she was so affected.” Thor sighs, pained by his own lack of awareness. Of course Darcy would be affected by the battle against the Dark Elves. He has been so distracted by Jane and her more urgent needs as the unwilling vessel of the Aether that he has neglected Darcy. He cannot change his past actions but he can resolve to keep a closer watch on her in the days and weeks to come.

“Now that we know her medication is correct, let her sleep as much as she likes. Please do wake her at the intervals as described by her prescription to have her take the pills. If you can get more fluids, water or a sports drink for example, into her at that time, that would be helpful. Something light like a soup or broth would be even better.”

“I understand, and thank you Doctor. It is very helpful to have the advice of someone so skilled.”

Her voice is warm as she responds. “Call me Laura, please. Let me give you my number in case you have any additional questions.” Thor commits the simple series of numbers to memory - he’ll add them to the phone the Lady Pepper sent for him a few days ago.

After assuring Robbie that Darcy will call as soon as she is next awake, Thor sets her phone down on the nightstand and contemplates the young woman before him.

It is far too soon to ask Iðunn for the gift of her golden apples, and he’s not certain either Jane or Darcy would accept such a gift and all it entails, but he takes a moment to close his eyes and beseech the Norns for their favor and protection for his loves. As soon as they have settled, he will create a small altar in honor of the goddesses and resume his regular offerings. He looks forward to sharing the small, everyday wonders of Midgard with those who spin the threads of fate at the foot of Yggdrasil, and hopes they will enjoy the novelty and the sincerity of his offerings in the spirit in which he intends.

In the meantime, Thor takes the opportunity to draw a dagger from his boot. He cannot wield magics as Loki does, but he does gather the small amount he can control as he nicks his finger and very gently draws a rune of protection on Darcy’s forehead with his own blood. Placing his lips to the spot, he whispers the strongest protection spell he knows and pulls back in time to watch it flare with light, and the blood fade away as if it had never been. He watches in gentle satisfaction as the most visible of her bruises fade, and Darcy stirs slightly in her sleep, sighing as the most potent of her aches ease with his blessing.

To mark her this way risks her coming to the attention of those who would strike at her to get to him, but the events of the last week have proved that he must do what he can to help protect them. 

To his enemies, love is a weakness. For Thor, they are the best and greatest part of his strength.

May he always prove worthy of the love of these women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I think I have something in my eyes to make it rain on my face this way. *wipes* I love our impossibly awesome interdimensional space golden retriever. I really do. I figure Mjolnir knows what she's on about.
> 
> We've come to the end of the chapters I have pre-written for this particular story, so there will definitely be more time between updates from here. What do you think so far? Got questions about anything you've read, or that you're wondering about and that might not have been addressed (yet)? Leave a comment and let me know.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been reading this little universe so far. If you like it, and you rec it, I'd love a link.


	7. Author note

Just a quick note from your friendly neighborhood author. I'm not abandoning this story, as I have many, many ideas that will fall into the space between the end of the second story in this series and the fourth. 

But all the words are stuck, even though they're small snippets, and it's been a month since I posted. Stories that take place after the timeframe in the snapshots are piling up. Rather than continue to fight with it, I'm going to go ahead and start posting some of those other stories, and will return to the plot bunnies in this timeframe when they're ready to cooperate once more.

If you're not subscribed to this one, please do so as you'll get notifications for when a new chapter is available. If you don't have an account to take advantage of that functionality, I have a few invites I can share. Drop a line at perclexed at gmail if you'd like one and let me know.

Thanks!


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